


when the sweet words and fevers all leave us right here in the cold

by a_secondhand_sorrow



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Evan and Connor were friends AU, F/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Slow Burn, hes still dead though I’m sorry, kind of, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-11-01 12:39:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17867444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_secondhand_sorrow/pseuds/a_secondhand_sorrow
Summary: They’d known each other.They’d known each other, and in a stolen note and a scrawled message and a broken smile at a dinner table, you just might be able to tell.***In one universe, Connor Murphy and Evan Hansen’s relationship never extended beyond a heated talk in the computer lab.In another, that was simply the dead end.***(or: an AU where Evan and Connor were friends throughout high school)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title from ‘hard feelings/loveless’ by lorde
> 
> My very first multi chapter fic! set in an au where Connor and Evan were friends, Jared’s less of an asshole, Alana exists more, and my love Zoe is (hopefully) done justice

They’d known each other, not that long ago.

They’d known each other, but in the hallway where Connor shoved him and the computer lab where Evan’s note was stolen, you’d barely be able to tell.

They’d known each other until that summer, until a too-big fight contributed to Evan climbing his tree with no one to find him when he fell, and Connor pulling back for the rest of summer, fizzing out until a blaze of glory that first autumn’s day.

They’d known each other, and you could tell from the tense shoulders and the tight grip on paper, and the hesitant smiles and the familiarity of someone who used to be your only friend.

The knew each other until Connor skimmed the note, seeing both how sad and scared Evan was, and desperate for it to not be something for him to see and freak out over. But if he didn’t freak out, then it was true, then Evan had tried to kill himself that day, because of him.

And he knew Evan, so he freaked out, to shift the blame from Evan, and went home, and decided that there was nothing left for him. He kept the letter in his pocket, hoping that it would give some message to Evan, letting him know it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t him.

And he let go.


	2. Of Phone Calls and Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1, straight from Evan’s perspective! I’ll be uploading chapter 2 from tumblr soon. 
> 
> This is probably obvious but, most of the dialogue in this chapter (and the rest tbh) is directly from DEH. please don’t sue me, i did not actually write a lot of this

 

“Oh, he’s going to ruin your life.”

“Jared.”

“I mean, that’s what I would do.”

“Jared.”

“I mean, he’s Connor Murphy, who gives a shi-”

“ _Jared_.”

“What?”

“That’s not-he wouldn’t-” Evan struggled for a second, struggling to find the right words. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“How would you know? He threw a printer at Mrs. G in second grade. He’d do anything.”

“Because we’re friends, alright?” Evan spit out suddenly, unable to handle Jared’s taunts. “We’re friends, or, or at least we used to be, but we fought over the summer and-and we hadn’t talked but he stormed off with the letter and-and shit, I’m actually worried about him.”

It’s quiet on the other line for a moment. “Really?”

“Yes, really, and I’ve never-I’ve never seen him so upset-” Evan could hear the emotion creeping into his own voice, but the reason he stopped was because of Jared. “Hey, are you good? You just kinda, uh? Stopped talking.”

“Huh?” Jared said suddenly, his tone different than Evan had heard before. Maybe it was only because Evan had known him for so long, but he could practically hear the gears spinning in Jared’s head across the phone. “No, I, um, I was just thinking, you know-secret friends no one knows about who have a mysterious falling out? That’s like, the perfect formula for high school gay lovers-”

Some combination of his nerves and the odd way in which Jared was acting made Evan say, “Do you ever stop projecting onto other people?”

There was a slight pause on the other end, before Jared managed a quiet, “Damn, Hansen, really throwing the punches tonight.”

“Oh my god, no, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so sorry-”

“No, shit, you’re fine. I’m kidding. It was a joke.” Although something in his tone held a note of _definitely_ _not kidding_ , Evan decided to let it slide.

“So, should I, should I call him? Or should I, wait no. I can’t call him, what if he’s furious with me?”

  
“Evan. Take three deep breaths.” Jared’s tone had become businesslike again, and Evan felt a bit of relief. “Look, I’ll spell it out for you. You two have your… _friendship_ , which fell apart, so he pushed you in the fucking hallway because of, I don’t know, unresolved trauma and guilt or some shit, and felt bad about it so he came to apologize until he read about your creepy crush on his sister in your weird sex note-”

“It’s not a sex note-”

“-and obviously he was overcome with a jealous rage that he no longer held your affections-”

“ _Jared_!”

“-and stormed off in a blind rage, where he’ll probably get high and skip school for a week before his parents find out and force him to go back.”

“That’s-no-that’s not what- you really think so?” The quiet desperation in Evan’s voice annoyed even him, much less Jared.

“I mean,” Jared seemed to be back to his old cocky self, “probably. He’s Connor Murphy.”

***

The vague anxiety for both himself and Connor followed Evan for the next few days, punctuated by the absence of both Zoe and Connor from school. Of course, Jared’s thoughts of Connor ‘ruining his life’ lost Evan some sleep, but his main fears rested in this being the final straw for their friendship.

Or worse, the final straw for Connor.

All of these fears only spiked when he was called to the principal’s office several days into the school year.

“Uh, is Mr. Howard…”

Evan stopped short as he slowly recognized the couple sitting in the office.

“I just, sorry, they said on the loudspeaker for me to come to the Principal’s office.”

“Mr. Howard is, uh, he stepped out.” The gray-haired man, seated on a small couch in the office next to a rather put-together red haired woman, indicated a seat opposite himself. Although they were both impeccably dressed and put together, a few signs of durress shone through-the woman’s eyes appeared to be red and watery under her eye makeup, and the man’s hand clenched and unclenched on the arm of the couch.

They were Larry and Cynthia Murphy, Connor and Zoe’s parents.

Evan’s heart seized with a rush of panic.

“We wanted to speak to you in private,” Larry shifted a little on the couch, gesturing to a chair opposite. “If you’d like to, maybe…”

He sat slowly, shrinking down in the chair, picking a little at his cast, which remained partially obscured from Larry and Cynthia across from him to hide the fact that his cast had Connor’s name scrawled on it in giant letters.

Larry cleated his throat. Cynthia sniffled. Evan shifted.

Eventually, Larry said, quite gently, “we’re, uh… we’re Connor’s parents.”

All Evan could manage was a small “oh?”

Shakily, Cynthia pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse, as Larry began a “why don’t you go ahead, honey-”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Cynthia snapped, clearly close to a breaking point.

“That’s not what I said, is it?”

Cynthia ignored him, her gaze pointedly fixed at the wall. She then turned to Evan, holding out the piece of paper with an odd kind of reverence, as though it were a lifeline. Slowly, she said, “this is…Connor…he wanted you to have this.”

Evan took the paper from Cynthia, who clung to it till the very last second as though she were afraid it would disappear as she let go. He unfolded the paper gently, heart racing, feeling the weight of Larry and Cynthia’s eyes on him.

His note. It’s his note, staring up at him from this paper.

But why?

Larry cut in as Evan stared down at the note. “We didn’t…we hadn’t heard your name before, Connor never…but then we saw… ‘Dear Evan Hansen.’”

“He, um,” Evan shifted a bit, turning to look more at Larry than the paper, “he gave you this?”

“We didn’t know you were friends.”

Evan looked up quickly, paper momentarily forgotten in his grip, shocked that they knew. Had Connor told them? “Uh, yes but-but what-?”

Larry cut in again, seemingly almost to himself more than Evan. “We didn’t think that Connor had any friends. And then we see this note and it’s, it seems to suggest pretty clearly that you and Connor were, or at least for Connor, he thought of you as…I mean, it’s right there. ‘Dear Evan Hansen.’ It’s addressed to you.” Larry paused for a moment, his voice having died in his throat. “He wrote it to you.”

Evan swallowed, not quite sure what to say. “I’m sorry, but what-why-you think he wrote this to me?”

Cynthia nodded, eyes full of tears. “These are the words he wanted to share with you. His…last words.”

“This is what he wanted to leave you with.” Larry added, eyes downcast, voice laced with regret.

  
All Evan could manage was “I’m sorry…his last words?”

At this, Cynthia began actually crying, actively trying to conceal sobs. Larry appeared to be close to his wife’s situation, but holding it together much more. Clearing his throat, he said “Connor…uh…Connor took his own life.”

“He…what?” Evan half-whispered, eyes traveling back down to the paper.

For the first time, he noticed something scribbled at the bottom.

He looked quickly, seeing Connor’s familier blocky scrawl.

_Dear Evan Hansen,  
It’s not your fault._

Suddenly, the world tilted around him, the reality of his situation coming to a sharp focus in his mind.

Connor was dead, and they never made up.

His mind a whirl of thoughts, the only real ones he could find were _Connor is dead, Connor is dead, Connor is dead, Connor killed himself, Connor’s gone, it should have been you, it should have been you, it should have been me, you could’ve saved him, you should’ve saved him, you needed to save him, he’s dead, you should be dead-_

  
A sob tore through his chest, his note and _his_ note gripped tightly in his hands seen through blurred tears. But no, this note, the last thing Connor ever said, the only thing rooting him to reality was gently being pulled from his hands.

“I didn’t… I didn’t…” Evan choked out through breaths, feeling tears streaming down his face but unable to stop it. “He’s…” His words choked off, but his eyes asked a million questions of the Murphys.

Larry was the only one who could speak. “This is all we found with him. It was folded up in his pocket. You can see that he’s…he wanted to explain why he was…” he struggled for a moment, blinking back tears, before indicating the piece of paper, which he thrust back to Evan. “‘I wish everything was different. I wish I were a part of something. I wish that what I said mattered to anyone.’”

“Please stop, Larry,” Cynthia choked, looking imploringly at Evan, her gaze probing.

“I…I didn’t…”

Evan looked up, meeting Cynthia’s eyes fully for the first time. The deep sorrow he saw there only choked him up further, rendered him nearly incapable of speaking. “Connor didn’t… I…” he shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts. “Can I, can I please go now?”

“He’s clearly in shock,” Larry said, turning to Cynthia.

This was plainly the wrong thing for Cynthia. “This is all we have. This is the _only_ thing we have left.”  
Evan shifted in his seat again, and Larry caught sight of something. He followed Larry’s gaze, seeing the choppy letters Connor had printed on his cast.

“Look,” he said slowly, drawing Cynthia’s attention. “Look. His cast…his best and most dearest friend.”

Evan could see the spiral in which this conversation was going. He was unsure of whether to jump ship while he still could, or stick it out.

But then the words _Connor is dead_ floated back up, with a fresh wave of tears, and he couldn’t imagine leaving his parents-or himself-with that so freshly engraved in his memory.

“Please…” Cynthia leaned forward, weeping, grabbing slightly at Evan’s arm. “Please. He’s…you’re…it’s all we have left.”

“Come to dinner,” Larry said gently. “Any night that works for you. We’d… we’d love to get to know you, Evan.”

Evan nodded blindly, slowly, feeling as though he were moving through a tunnel.

“Thank you,” Cynthia said, sounding as though she had had the weight of the world lifted off of her shoulders. “Thank you.”


	3. my limbs all froze and my eyes won’t close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She wanted to find a reason to hate Evan, a reason to hate him like she hated her brother. But he was… different. Quiet. There was a somberness to him and Zoe couldn’t tell if it was because of the grief in his eyes or something deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from “bury a friend” by billie eilish
> 
> chapter 2 is back, and we’ve got Zoe’s POV now!

On the list of things Zoe Murphy wanted to do on Thursday evening, having dinner with her parents and Evan Hansen was not very high on the list.

It probably didn’t even make the list, honestly.

Because despite her yearning to be closer to Larry, and to get along with Cynthia, and to get to know Evan’s (slightly adorable) smile, that didn’t seem close to happening.

She wanted to find a reason to hate Evan, a reason to hate him like she hated her brother. But he was… different. Quiet. There was a somberness to him and Zoe couldn’t tell if it was because of the grief in his eyes or something deeper.

Especially when the empty chair that Cynthia refused to move seemed to manifest itself in her mind, twisting into memories into memories into memories.

But he was grieving, and Zoe wanted to hate him for it.

She knew, just by looking around the table, that this would be a difficult meal. Her father ate quickly, seemingly trying to drown himself in distraction. Her mother pushed food around on her plate, glancing hopefully up at Evan. Evan fidgeted, as unable to eat as her mother, looking around a little wide eyed. She simply sat and stared, her arms crossed, for she couldn’t conjure up anything else to give to the people sitting around her.

Even in death, Connor’s presence dominated everything. His chair took up a monumental space at the table, his shadows danced across the walls, and his name remained unspoken, on the tips of everyone’s tongues.

“Would anyone else like some more chicken?”

“I think you’re the only one with an appetite, Larry.” Cynthia bit out.

“The Harris’s brought it over.” Larry said, somewhat defensively.

Cynthia ignored him, leaning across the table a little, her eyes locked hopefully on Evan. “Did Connor tell you about the Harris’s?”

“I, uh, I don’t think he did.” Evan seemed… disappointed, almost, that there was nothing else for him to offer to Cynthia.

“We used to go skiing together.” She pressed, trying to draw some memory from him.

Looking down at his plate, in almost a whisper, Evan said “Connor didn’t really like skiing.”

“Connor hated skiing.” As Zoe said it, all conversation fell at the table. She almost regretted saying anything.

“So, you guys, you…you hung out a lot.” Cynthia said, leaning forward, trying to get something.

“Yeah.”

“Where?” Zoe cut in, feeling a sort of desperation she’d never felt before.

“Oh, you mean, like where did we…? Well, we mostly hung out at my house. I mean, one or two times we came here, but nobody else was home. We would email a lot, though, mostly. So, we wouldn’t have to, he didn’t always want to hang out. In person, you know?”

Although Evan seemed sincere enough, something whispered _don’t believe him_ and she listened. Cynthia ate it all up, almost smiling, which was something she hadn’t done since before…well. And Larry was doing his best impression of a wall, seemingly carefully indifferent.

“We looked through his emails and we didn’t see any from you.” Zoe spat out, with more venom then she would have liked.

“Well, no, of course, yeah, I mean that’s because he had a different account. A…seceret account, I guess.” A slight pause. “That must’ve been very confusing.”

“Why was it a secret?”

“Just so no one else could,” he struggled, “it was more private, I guess, that way?”

“He knew we read his emails.” Cynthia said suddenly, turning to look at Larry, a fraught quality to her tone.

Staring pointedly at the lighting fixture, a vein working in his forehead, he deadpanned “someone had to be the bad guy.”

Zoe felt herself growing more frustrated, the fact her parents were accepting Evan’s story so easily stirring up something inside of her. “The weird thing is, the only time I saw you and my brother together was when he shoved you at school last week.”

“He shoved you?” Cynthia said, turning to Evan.  
Evan only looked at Zoe for a moment, before looking back down at his plate, picking at his cast.  
Zoe spit out, staring directly at him, “I was there. I saw the whole thing. He pushed you, hard.”

Evan finally spoke, still picking at the cast, his voice heavy and quiet. “We… we had a fight. Over the summer. And even before then, he…didn’t like us talking at school. And when I tried to talk to him, he just….” he shrugged a little, eyed still downcast.

“Why didn’t he want you to talk to him at school?” Zoe pressed, refusing to look away from him.

“I’m, I’m not really sure. He didn’t really want people to know that we were friends. I guess he was embarrassed. A little.”

Sounding incredulous, Cynthia cut in with, “Why would he be embarrassed?”

“Um. I guess because he thought I was sort of, you know…”

“A nerd?” Zoe offered somewhat bitterly, louder then she’d meant to.

“Zoe.” Larry said, a warning embedded in the single word, just like so many other family dinners around the table.

“Isn’t that what you meant?” she pressed.

“Loser, I was going to say, actually. But nerd works too.” said Evan, the barest hint of a smile gracing his features.

Cynthia hadn’t looked away from Evan through the whole exchange. “That wasn’t very nice of him.”

“Well, Connor wasn’t very nice, so that makes sense,” Zoe spat out.

Dead silence surrounded the room.

Zoe supposed that, even to Evan, it was clear this was not new territory for the Murphy family.

Cynthia quickly looked away, while Larry snapped back to attention at the head of the table.

For the first time all evening-or really all week-Zoe had her mother’s attention. With obvious difficulty, Cynthia said, staring evenly at Zoe, “Connor was… he was a complicated person.”

( _He was late again. He was always late._

_She had convinced her parents to go to bed, that Connor would be home any minute. They’d believed her, believed her after all these times she’d covered for him. So she sat up, scrolling idly through Instagram, ignoring the rush of anxiety that grew every minute that passed without Connor appearing._

_Eventually, the lock clicked, and Connor slid in the room, wearing a black hoodie despite the near-freezing temperatures._

_“Where were you?” Zoe whispered, getting up and walking across the floor, her sock-clad feet making soft thumps with each step._

_Connor refused to make eye contact with her, instead taking his sneakers off and throwing them down with a loud thump._

_“Shh. Mom and dad are asleep. I covered for you. Don’t wake them up.”_

_“Why?” He said suddenly, loudly. “So that you don’t get reprimanded? It’s none of your fucking business,” Connor said, refusing to make eye contact._

_“No, Connor, I-”_

_He was shouting again, backing her back into the living room. “Because you’re ashamed of me, ashamed of helping me, aren’t you?” She tried to speak again, but he cut her off, bloodshot eyes staring into hers. “Of course you are, the fucking golden child. Wouldn’t want to tarnish your pristine reputation.”_

_“No, it’s to fucking help you!” she shouted, forgetting why she wanted to be quiet in the first place. “So that they don’t give you more shit then you get already.”_

_“I’m not something to pity, Zoe!” he roared, raising a hand, as Zoe scrambled backwards. “I’m not some sad creature to need to fucking protect! I don’t need your fucking-”_

_He cut off, realizing_ _what he was doing. He lowered his hand, which was only inches from Zoe’s face._

_Everything held still, silent, tense._

_She stared at him, wide-eyed._

_Connor started to say something, eyes wide. “I’m-”_

_“Zoe?” came Cynthia’s voice from the stairway. “What are you doing up?”_

_Zoe finally unfroze, darting around Connor and his hand which was still half-raised, through the stench of pot, as Cynthia came to the doorway._

_“You should be in bed,” Cynthia said, ignoring Connor and his obvious arrival._

_Zoe only stared at Connor, her head shaking slowly. “You’re a fucking psychopath,” she spat in something close to a whisper, her whole body shaking. “Watch me help you again.”_

_Connor’s eyes cut through the dark. Zoe thought she saw him shaking._

_“Don’t use that language,” Cynthia began. “That’s constructi-”_

_“Zoe, I’m-I-fuck this.” Tension radiated through his tone, as he shoved his half-raised hand through his hair with the last part, radiating self doubt._

“Zoe-”

_She’d pounded back up the staircase, unable to forget the look in Connor’s eyes as she tried to drift off.)_

Without looking at Cynthia, her eyes trained at a shadow on the kitchen wall, Zoe responded with “No, Connor was a bad person. There’s a difference.”

“Zoe, please.” Larry said, sounding more tired then anything else.

( _Another morning, around the breakfast table, the same old torture repeated day after day._

_“Connor finished the milk,” Zoe’d complained, like a million other days._

_He was gone from the table in a flash. Zoe wondered briefly if he’d used smokescreens.  
“Zoe,” Larry said in a tired tone._

_“What?” Zoe demanded._

_Neither of her parents looked her in the eye.)_

“Don’t pretend like you don’t agree with me,” Zoe said, her voice growing louder then she expected, furiously looking anywhere besides Evan who was looking around the table wide-eyed.

“You refuse to see any of the good things!” Cynthia shouted, something having shifted with Zoe’s last words.

Ignoring her mother’s tears, Zoe retorted “Because there were no good things!”

At the same time, Cynthia sob-screamed “You refuse to see anything positive!”

( _Once, in eighth grade, she came home sobbing. Connor was the only one there._

_He’d made sure to sit her down, get her some water. Then he’d sat and listened to her whole tearstained story, cursing at Adam Sullivan and his incriminating rumors about Zoe. He’d made her laugh, assured her that no one would listen to him ‘brag’ about what they had supposedly done together._

_The next day, Adam came to school with a bit of a limp and a sheepish look on his face._

_At the table the next night, Zoe caught Connor’s eye and smiled._

_He smiled back.)_

“What were the good things, mom?” She shouted, her hand curled into a fist on the table.

“I don’t want to have this conversation in front of our guest,” Cynthia said, pushing herself up from the table and walking across the room, a hand pushed to her temple to hide tears that were falling.

_(“Zoe, this is not constructive.” Cynthia said, for what felt like the hundredth time.  
Just once, she wondered if she ever said it to Connor.)_

Zoe pushed herself up from the table, trailing after her mother. “What were they, mom? Tell me.”

“There were good things!” Cynthia shouted, desperation shown in every inch of her being.

( _During one of their parents’ screaming matches, he’d locked them into the bathroom where almost none of the arguments could be heard. He’d told her the story of the Little Prince until she drifted off against his chest, the cold tiles beneath her and tear tracks dried down her face.)_

“I remember a lot of good things about Connor,” Evan blurted suddenly.

A beat.

“Like what?” Zoe demanded, blinking back tears.

( _When she was thirteen, he and Cynthia had a knock down drag out fight. He’d run upstairs, locked himself in his room, refused to let Zoe in as she pounded at the door, crying, begging him to let her in._

_She fell asleep curled up just outside his door, just like she’d do many other nights in the future._

_In the dead of night, he’d cracked the door open but stopped short when he saw her sleeping form._

_She stirred._

_“You deserve better than this,” he’d whispered. “Why do you still try?”)_

“Never mind, I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry, never mind.”

“No, Evan, you were saying something.”

“It’s… it’s not important.”

“We want to hear what you have to say.” Cynthia said, tears choking her voice. “Please.”

( _It was something small. She might’ve made some offhand comment he’d just remembered, or left her stuff out on the counter, or finished the milk, or some tiny thing that was the straw that broke the camel’s back that day._

_But suddenly, Connor was practically punching her door down, his face red and shoulders squared, shouting about how he was going to kill her.  
The door burst open, and she lept up on her bed, but Larry was there suddenly, holding Connor back from his blaze._

_Their eyes connected, hers wide and full of fear and his glassy, bloodshot, dead to the world, full of blind hate, so far away from the starry-eyed boy who’d protected her and made sure she was never scared._

_They were a long way from her sleeping outside of his door._

_“I hate you,” he spat._

_She kept her door locked from then on.)_

“Well, we…” Evan stilled a little, perhaps drudging up some memory. “There was one day. Last May, I think. Maybe early June. Where he was really…” he stopped for a moment, taking a steadying breath. “He was better.”

Cynthia was still standing, the tips of her fingers pressed to her mouth, eyes watering. “What… what did you do?”

“We went to, um,” he paused for a moment, perhaps remembering a name. “The ice cream place by the orchard-um, À La Mode?”

The entire Murphy family realized, at the same moment, exactly what the weight of this statement meant.

Cynthia was the first to speak, her eyes wide. “He-did he take you to the orchard?”

Evan nodded slowly, staring down at the table.  
“We stopped at À La Mode, and-I think the cashier recognized Connor, they were taking for a little while-and then we went back to the orchard. It was, I guess it had been closed for a while, but I didn’t know that until we were there and Connor really-Connor really wanted to go so we went in anyway. It was run down and everything but, it was a really, it was charming.”

“Oh, do you remember stopping at À La Mode?” Cynthia turned to Larry and Zoe, and although both remained stone-faced, Zoe could already see the orchard spread out in front of her, mid-day light filtering through the branches.

Evan had gone quiet again, stuck in the memory of some long-gone afternoon. When he continued, it almost seemed like he was trying to make himself remember. “We’d walked around the orchard, and then we just… sat, for a while, and talked. About the end of school, about girls-er, people-” he chanced a glance at Zoe, and she tried to decipher some kind of hidden meaning to his look-“that we wished would notice us, and, you know, quoting our favorite bands and in-jokes.” He’s quiet for another moment. “It was really a perfect afternoon.”  
A silence descended on the table.

“Wow, I-” Cynthia swiped at her eyes, before going over to Evan and wrapping him up in her arms.

(A small voice whispered _when was the last time she hugged you like that, paid attention to you like that?_

She ignored it, pushed it down.)

Evan stayed for a little longer than that, trying to politely disengage before desert, claiming his mother might worry if he stayed too late.

Zoe was silent through it all, bolting upstairs the moment the front door closed, pretending she couldn’t hear sobs and the clacking of plates and bottles from downstairs.

“Zoe-”

She slammed the door behind her, her eyes suddenly finding a picture frame on her desk, her brother’s eyes filled with stars instead of pain staring back at her.

 _helovedyouhehatedyouhetriedtohityouhescreamedatyouhelovedyouhehatedyouheprotectedyouhelovedyouhehatedyouhelovedyou_ -

With a crash and a shatter, the eyes were gone, and Zoe curled up on her bed, sobs overtaking her completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not quite sure when chapter 3 will be up, but hopefully soon!
> 
> you know the drill: find me @itstrulyastrangerthing or @a-secondhand-sorrow on tumblr. comment and kudos if you’d like!


	4. i’d hide and pray for the the thunder and the rain to quietly pass me by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Didn’t you-didn’t you have class tonight?”
> 
> “It got cancelled.” Heidi frowned, clearly seeing through Evan’s attempts to hide the fact he’d cried for the whole walk home. “How about we sit for a minute, sweetheart?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here’s chapter 3 of sweet words, brought to you straight from the hell zone that is my brain. This chapter is much shorter than the first 2, and it’s also thin on plot. This is mostly just me having Emotions about Heidi and Evan’s relationship. 
> 
> a lot of this dialogue is from the musical so. it’s not mine. please don’t sue me. 
> 
> chapter title from from “sweet child of mine” bc I’m completely sapped of creativity

Evan slipped through the door, hoping to escape up to his room and give himself time to think over the evening before his mom got home.

Someone moved in the kitchen.

“Evan?”

 _Shit_. He’d forgotten his mom was getting home early tonight-well, earlier then usual. He quickly swiped at his eyes, hoping that his face wasn’t too puffy.

“Yeah?” He called back, trying to keep his voice even.

Heidi came into the room, still in her scrubs, a hint of concern on her features.

“Didn’t you-didn’t you have class tonight?”

“It got cancelled.” Heidi frowned, clearly seeing through Evan’s attempts to hide the fact he’d cried for the whole walk home. “How about we sit for a minute, sweetheart?”

He really couldn’t say no to his mother, as much as he wanted to. And besides, he barely saw her anymore, not with her picking up extra shifts and taking night classes.

As he sat next to her on the couch, she cleared her throat a bit. “You know, I-I got an email from the school today. About a boy in your grade who killed himself? Connor Murphy?” Her tone was gentle, and slightly inquisitive. “Did you know him?”

Maybe, another night, he would have had the definitive way to respond. He didn’t want to worry her by admitting one of his only friends had killed himself, but he also didn’t think he could lie to her.

Especially not tonight.

“Well, I-we-I didn’t-”

“Evan, honey,” Heidi reached out, grasping his unhurt arm.

He didn’t realize he’d started weeping again.

  
Heidi’s eyes stared into his, probing him, yet she remained silent as Evan tried to pull himself together.

After a moment, in the same gentle tone, her hand still resting on Evan’s arm, she asked, “did you know him?”

All Evan could do was make a sort of hopeless noise in the back of his throat, trying to hide his face. He nodded, trying very hard to hold back another tirade of tears.

At the same time, Heidi must have caught sight of Connor’s name on Evan’s cast, because she suddenly blurted “oh, _honey_ ,” and pulled him into a tight hug, his face buried in her shoulder.

For the first time since he’d found out Connor was dead, Evan allowed himself to truly fall apart.

Between sobs, Evan attempted to choke out the story: how they were best friends until they had a falling out during the summer, and they had another altercation at school the day Connor killed himself. He’s not sure if Heidi understood any of it, but he does know that the words die on his tongue as another wave of memories hits him and Heidi soothingly whispers “shh, you’ll be okay, I’m here.”

After calming down a little, he said “I just… they asked me to come to dinner. To-to talk with them. About Connor.”

“Oh, Evan,” Heidi said, still rubbing circles on his back.

“That’s where I was.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Evan slowly shook his head.

“Maybe another time, then. Tonight’s not the night. Hey, how about I bag my shift next Tuesday? When’s the last time we did a taco Tuesday?”

“Oh, you don’t have to…”

“No, honey, you’ve already been back at school for a week and I feel like I’ve barely talked to you. We could talk about your dinner, or just how school’s going.”

“…yeah. I’d like that.”

“You know what else we could go over?” Heidi shifted a little awkwardly, it was obvious to Evan she wasn’t quite sure how to move forward. “Look what I found online today: college scholarship essay contests. Have you heard of these?” As she spoke, one arm still around his shoulders, she reached to the side table and picked up a stack of papers.

“I think so…”

“NPR did a whole thing on them this morning. There are a million different ones you can do. A million different topics. I spent my whole lunch break looking these up.”

“Wow.”

Noticing Evan’s quietness, Heidi, most likely in an attempt to cheer him up, said “college is going to be so great for you, honey. How many times in life do you get a chance to just… start all over again?”

“No, I know.”

“You’ve got so much, so many wonderful things ahead of you. High school isn’t always… well, the only people who like high school are cheerleaders and football players and those people all end up miserable anyway. Yeah, you’re gonna fun yourself in college. I really think so. I mean, I wish I could come with you, but…” during her spiel, she must have realized that Evan wasn’t really enthused. “I just thought these were…it seemed like a good idea.”

“It is. For sure.”

She shifted, putting the stack of papers down, moving to look more at his face. “You know that… if you ever, if you want to talk about anything…I realize that lately it must seem like, I’m always working or I’m in class-“

“It’s fine.”

“Well, I’m here. And if I’m not here, I’m a phone call away. Or text. Email. Whatever.”

“Yeah, I know.” There was a moment of silence, which Evan suddenly couldn’t handle. “I might just go to bed.”

Heidi frowned a bit, pushing a lock of hair back from his forehead. Her arm lossened a bit around his back. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart. I know you had a long day.”

Evan stood stiffly and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom slowly, flopping down into bed without changing his clothes.

Instead of drifting off to sleep, he replayed Cynthia’s crying face, Larry’s distant glance, Zoe’s stony features over and over in his head, all paired with that one perfect afternoon in the mostly-dead orchard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4 is written but I’ve gotta write like, three essays this week so I have no idea when it’ll come out. catch me on tumblr @itsrtulyastrangerthing for more of me freaking out or @a-secondhand-sorrow if you want more pain like this


	5. haven’t we been here before?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was still hard to acknowledge that he was gone, despite her proclamations she was better off.
> 
> She tried not to think about that too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 4’s finally up, because I’m just a dirty procrastinator, so
> 
> I don’t own dear Evan Hansen, please don’t sue me
> 
> chapter title from “friends” by anne-Marie and marshmello

Emails.

Now there were emails.

Sure, Evan had mentioned them at dinner. But it was very different hearing about hundreds or thousands of little messages, little windows into Connor’s real life, then to have some of them printed out. In her hands.

Evan had offered to give them full range if the emails he had in his inbox, but Cynthia had turned it down, opting instead to get them piece by piece. Zoe couldn’t fully understand why. To maintain some illusion of privacy for her son?

 _Doesn’t matter now_ , she felt like saying. _He offed himself before you could give him that chance_.

(As she thought it, that little cynical voice in the back of her head the main perpetrator, she winced, inwardly. It was still hard to acknowledge that he was gone, despite her proclamations she was better off.

She tried not to think about that too much.)

Her mother was holding the pages in a similar way to how she’d held the note; with feather-light touches, eyes hungrily grabbing up words but turning pages slowly, deliberately. This was a bright contrast to Larry, who looked restless; he seemed a million miles away, like he’d rather be doing anything than holding the emails of his dead son.

Cynthia glanced up as soon as Zoe slammed the front door shut and entered the living room.

“How was your first day back at school?” She asked, a hint of longing in her voice.

The tone stopped her thoughts dead in their tracks.

That was her Connor Voice. The voice she use when she tried desperately to connect to Connor, to make sure he was okay.

Zoe never got the Connor Voice.

(“ _Zoe, that is not constructive.”_ )

Any trace of pleasantness she’d maintained after her shit day disappeared. “Great. Everyone wants to be my friend. You know, since I’m the dead kid’s sister.”

(In reality, it was a little more nuanced than that; there were the people who seemed to angelize Connor, and wanted to be closer to anyone who knew him; there were very few whose bullying and demonizing had continued into Connor’s death; there were some who seemed to want to get in on the tragedy of the whole situation; others still seemed like they wanted to make sure that Everything Is Okay and Zoe Is Doing Well and Does Not Want to Kill Herself-which is a whole other story-and somehow, each was worst than the last.

Alana Beck had come on particularly strong; Zoe had yet to figure out where she fit.)

“I’m sure they mean well,” Larry said, staring pointedly at the page.

It was… unnerving, really, to have Cynthia’s full attention. “How was band today? I bet they were glad to have you back.”

(“How was school, hun? Bet they’re glad to have you back,” she’d said one evening, when Connor came back from rehab. He’d said nothing.)

Swallowing down her memories, Zoe spat out “you really don’t have to do this, okay?” She’d turned away, making her way towards the stairs.

  
Cynthia seemed taken aback, dropping the emails into her lap. “Do what?”

Zoe stopped, turning back to Cynthia, her hands grabbing at the straps of her backpack. An uncharacteristic anger boiled up in her; something she’d almost never felt before, but had to constantly fight since school had started. “Just because Connor isn’t here, trying to punch through my door, screaming at the top of his lungs that he’s going to kill me for no reason-that doesn’t mean that all of the sudden we’re the fucking Brady Bunch.”

She’d stopped crying so much. Zoe wasn’t quite sure when-for the first week, that seemed to be the only thing Cynthia could do. But at some point, she’d stopped crying, and she’d started-

Well, maybe living was too strong of a word. But she was…better.

As opposed to Zoe, who seemed to get worse and worse with each passing day.

( _Like Connor did_ , that little voice whispered, giving voice to many a thought she’d had.

That was something else she didn’t like thinking about.)

Zoe blinked, and Cynthia was standing in front of her. She was more clear eyed then Zoe could remember seeing her. There was something peaceful, almost, about the set of her shoulders, how her muscles relaxed on her face. “Here,” she thrust some of the pages towards Zoe, an air of piousness to the gesture. “Please. Read these. When you’re ready.”

As she grabbed the emails, it was like a switch had flipped inside of her. They’d rooted her to the ground and frozen her in place, left her to stand there, staring, as they stared back up at her. Her mother moved around her, with a sympathetic glance, and mounted the stairs, more emails in hand. Larry was nowhere to be found; she’d missed his near-silent exit.

And she was left with Connor.

Even though she didn’t want to, she found herself moving toward the couch. Her backpack dropped to the floor at her feet, and she perched on the edge of the armrest, poised for flight. It was only then she began reading.

(She’d sat like that a lot, actually. It had become a reflex; she wouldn’t let herself become too comfortable in the living room. One or two times when Connor was at rehab she’d sat on the couch, jumping when she’d heard Larry’s footsteps in the hall.

Maybe it was because she was reading his words, his life poured on the page, but she couldn’t find it in her to let her guard down now.)

It was…uneventful. It was a normal friendly conversation; she’d seen enough of those in her life.

It was uneventful, except for the fact she’d never thought Connor could do that. Be civil. Be relaxed around someone.

He certainly never was to her.

So when she saw her name in the fifth email she read, under Connor’s email pseudonym, her heart stopped and started again.

It was casual, almost, thrown in at the last second- _Zoe has a jazz band concert tonight, so no weed and doctor who for me_ , followed by a concerned Evan discouraging Connor from getting high-but it took over all other thought, mostly just _he was capable of thinking about me in a neutral way?_ The thought seemed laughable, as she perched on the armrest of the couch in her own living room, spooked by a ghost, by words on a page.

And then she kept reading.

It wasn’t really a conscious thought, but when she happened upon another ‘Zoe,’ and another, she snapped back to her senses and yanked her eyes up from the page. She could hear some commotion above her-maybe Larry and Cynthia in one of their arguments-but they suddenly went silent, and she was left with her thoughts.

(If she strained, she could remember when Connor was her partner in crime for when they fought. It seemed like it was so far away, especially compared to everything else at the forefront of her mind. Bursting into her room, screaming at her for nothing, lashing out, pushing her away, raising his hand in fights, doing so much-whether he knew it or not-to drive her to where she was right then, unable to believe her brother had been anything but critical of her, unable to relax in her own living room because of some deep-ingrained lesson.)

(How dare he. How _dare_ he come back like this, to haunt her, to fill her every waking thought, to fill her lungs with his name when she had nothing else there, to fill her blood with adrenaline as she played through her memories.)

(How _dare_ he make it clear, after he killed himself, that he loved her all along, even when he’d pushed her love away.)

No, it couldn’t be true. It was another trick, another game. She’d wake up, filled to the brim with nostalgia, knowing for sure Connor had hated her. He’d hated her. He’d given her no choice but to hate him.

She hated him.

She _hated_ him.

_She hated him-_

(The words were watching her, from the page, shining out. ‘Zoe was great last night.’ So normal. So out of place.)

She couldn’t, she couldn’t, she _couldn’t_ -

She blinked, clearing her eyes. She hadn’t realized they’d watered.

A crunch filled her ears belatedly, like thunder after lighting, and she looked down at her clenched fist, Connor’s emails crushed inside.

She didn’t blink away the tears when they came.

Zoe slowly shifted her body over the arm of the couch, ignoring every _no stop bad idea_ in her brain and bending over her curled hand as she forced herself to relax into the couch cushions.

Silently, carefully, without breathing, she unfurled her fist and smoothed out the paper in her hand.

  
Visions blurred by tears, she read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well that was depressing, yet necessary, unfortunately. chapter 5 is coming-relatively?-soon, as it’s mostly written. we’re switching things up a bit next time. 
> 
> catch me on tumblr if you want, I’m okay sometimes (@itstrulyastrangerthing or @a-secondhand-sorrow)
> 
> anyway, I posted this instead of sleeping. I’m gonna go to bed now so that I don’t die tomorrow. comment and kudos if you’re so inclined


	6. improve all of your strong points, and hide things that you lack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gordon ramasay voice* finally, some good fucking Alana Beck
> 
> that’s right; we’ve got an Alana-centric chapter coming up... right now. after this, she’ll be a more recurring character (like the musical)
> 
> chapter title from ‘Alyssa Greene’ from the prom

When you’re Alana Beck, nothing is enough.

Take any AP class that will have you. Pick up every extracurricular that seems vaguely prestigious. Babysit any neighbor’s kids that might need it. Do any extra credit you can pick up. Volunteer any free hours you have left hour. Keep moving, keep going, stay occupied, anything to stop yourself from slowing down and being stuck inside of your own head.

_~~(Anything.)~~ _

And that’s the status quo, from fourteen on; because if you’re constantly busy, you can’t think about the empty lunch tables you conquer at the lunch hour, or your grandmother’s clammy, skin-stretched-over-bone hand grasping yours imploringly, or the pit sinking into the depths of your stomach as your best friend mouths _freak_ at you and your heart aches and you’re broken, wrong, something is _wrong_ with you.

_~~(In for four, hold for seven, out for eight)~~ _

So Alana takes any distraction that she can, because the panic attacks and nail-breaking-skin stress are preferable to the alternative, to allowing herself to fade completely into the background. To disappear.

***

And then, senior year, Alana gets the email.

Connor Murphy. Connor Murphy, the kid who kicked her ass in four square every day in first grade, who checked on her in eighth grade after she had sped-walked through the halls to get to the nurse when her lungs had begun closing with panic, who had delighted in calling Huck Finn anything but, who had smiled appreciatively at her rambles when they were lab partners even when he was dead to all else, _that_ Connor Murphy had killed himself.

And her world shrinks just a little, narrows just that much. Because even though she’d never admit it to anyone, much less herself, any hint of human interaction was sacred to her. Connor’s half-smiles were more than Alana was ever granted from most, his brief moments of kindness shining out like a lighthouse, a beacon of hope. He was unpredictable, but in a lot of other ways he was steady. She knew he’d be there when she turned around.

She didn’t even know why she cared. It wasn’t like she knew him all that well; he was, at most, an acquaintance. A close acquaintance. Logically, she knew that the reason she was upset was because it was tragedy close to home. Someone she knew was dead, so of course she’d have trouble processing that.

_~~(just like you had trouble processing before?)~~ _

Maybe the real reason it shook her so hard was because if Connor Murphy could kill himself, anything could happen.

Maybe _she_ could—

~~_(In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, and then your mind is clear, you have purpose, you are the Alana Beck everyone expects you to be.)_ ~~

—do something, to commiserate Connor’s life. He was only an acquaintance, but she knows that his family must be hurting. Or other students, like her, could be upset about what happened. She didn’t know Connor, but she knew what grief could do to a person.

So she put on a brave face. She comforted a crying Dana P., tweeted out messages of support, gave a firm chastisement to anyone who trash-talked Connor. She hugged Zoe Murphy when she got back to school, even when all Zoe did was give her a weird look. She searched, every day, for something to do. Something more than carrying on with her everyday life.

Salvation arrived in the form of Jared Kleinman.

“Hey, Alana!” She just managed to turn her head as Jared trotted up to her, plastering a smile on her face.

“Hi, Jared! What’s—” she’s cut off by Jared opening his coat-a down coat in the middle of September, what the _fuck_ \- “what are those?”

“My crocs,” Jared replied, earning a death glare. He cleared his throat before continuing. “They’re remembrance buttons. For Connor Murphy? Like the bracelets Sabrina Patel was selling.”

As Alana looked closer at the lining of Jared’s coat, she could, in fact, see Connor’s tiny, shiny face staring back at her. Something about it unsettled Alana, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. “Did you get the Murphy’s permission?”

Jared shifted a little, but seemed largely unconcerned. “Well-no. I tried to sell Zoe one, but she just told me to fuck off.”

“Jared!”

“What?” All Jared got was another glare. He at least had the class to look sheepish. “Okay, it might have been a little insensitive, but-”

“Try _extremely_.”

“-Evan didn’t seem too upset by it, so I figure it’s okay.”

“Evan…” Alana searched for a moment, trying to think of an Evan who would be relevant to their conversation. The only Evan she could think of would be Evan Hansen, who beyond speaking to for a little in the hallways, she didn’t really know. “Evan Hansen? Why, is he related to them?”

There was an out of place expression on Jared’s face, one that seemed almost regretful for bringing him up. “No, he and Connor were-they were best friends, apparently.”

This shocked Alana. As far as she knew, Connor Murphy didn’t have any friends.

~~_(Just like her.)_ ~~

“I though you two were best friends?” She threw out, not fully paying attention to the words. She missed Jared reaction, but his tone had grown slightly quicker.

“What? No, no, we’re just family friends-well real friends, but, you know.”

Alana looked back up at him. His expression was unreadable again. “Okay,” she said, kissing herself away from her locker. “See you later, then.” And in a moment, the smile had slipped back onto her face with the same forced cheery tone. “I hope you have a great day.”

She was frowning again as soon as her back was turned.

***

So Alana had another purpose: find Evan Hansen, and talk to him. It might not be much better than hugging Zoe Murphy or tweeting plastic-feeling condolences, but it’s something.

~~_(Anything.)_ ~~

This proved easier than she might have expected. First thing the next morning, she managed to corner him in the hallway.

With that same false-cheery voice and plastered smile, she said “Hi, Evan! How are you? How is everything?”

Evan looked a bit like a deer caught in headlights. He blinked rapidly one or two times, before responding. “Um. Fine? Thanks.”

She doesn’t give him much time to process before she proceeds ~~_(in for four, hold for seven, out for eight, and then your mind is clear, you have purpose, you are the Alana Beck everyone expects you to be)_~~ forcing the same inflections as before. “Oh my God, Jared told me about you and Connor, how you guys were so close, and you were, like, best friends.”

Evan visibly deflated at the mention of Connor. “Oh…he did?”

Alana nods. “Everyone is talking about how brave you’ve been this week.”

A few people had overheard her and Jared’s conversation; and while it wasn’t strictly true that everyone had been talking about it, there was a fair amount of chatter, given the short time block.

He fidgets with the straps of his backpack; Alana couldn’t remember him doing that before. “They are?”

Alana forged on. “I mean, anybody else in your position would be falling apart. Dana P. was crying so hard at lunch the other day, she pulled a muscle in her face. She had to go to the hospital.”

Evan gave her a funny look. “Isn’t Dana P. new this year? She didn’t even know Connor.”

Feeling a grimace come to her face, Alana responded, “That’s why she was crying. Because now she’ll never get the chance.” Or at least, that’s what Dana had told her between sobs as Alana waited with her for her parents to arrive. “Connor is really bringing the school together, it’s pretty incredible. People I’ve never talked to before, they want to talk to me now, because they know how much Connor meant to me.” Here, Alana paused for a moment. It was only after she said it that she realizes this may seem insensitive to Evan, who was really friends with Connor. ~~_(you always do this why can’t you just stop talking)_~~ “I actually started a blog about him, a sort of memorial page…”

“Were you friends, too?” Evan looked a little surprised, yet still overall wary.

“Acquaintances. But close acquaintances.”

  
Evan nodded, as though that made sense. Knowing Connor-or not knowing Connor, rather-it could have. “Oh.”

The conversation was not going where Alana had hoped it would. She picked up Evan’s hand and squeezed it, hoping that it came across as a friendly, comforting gesture. “If you need anything, just DM me. Or let me know. Whatever’s best for you.”

Evan nodded again, looking slightly more uncomfortable. “Thanks.”

With that, Alana let go of his hand and turned, throwing a little wave over her shoulder.

Maybe her opportunity would come later.

***

And it did.

Alana awoke to a Facebook message, her phone buzzing harshly in the half light of the morning. She reached for it groggily, the light blinding her.  
It was from Evan.

_could we talk about something?_

_I have an idea. I don’t know if it’s good, or if it’ll work, but…_

_it might help people like Connor_

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for more Sad AU
> 
> anyway, find me @itstrulyastrangerthing or @a-secondhand-sorrow on tumblr, I’m funny occasionally
> 
> comment and kudos if you’d like to


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